


Holding Out For A Hero

by Britpacker



Series: Life On Earth [13]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-25
Updated: 2011-07-27
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: He used to think beating off alien attacks was tough.  Now, home alone with three kids and no armoury officer to watch his back, Trip's counting the hours until salvation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Standard disclaimers and no beta (as usual).  
>  This is one I've had lingering for a while. I just love the thought of Trip playing housekeeper/nursemaid.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip's home alone - with three kids. No wonder he's desperate for a little backup...

"C'mon, Charlie, where are y' hiding?" Pulling his youngest son onto his lap, the two-year-old's sister swinging off the back of his office chair, Captain Charles Tucker the Third activated his monitor's comm. "Lissa, stop spinnin' the chair, sweetheart, and kindly don't try to smack your big brother just for standing beside you, okay? We only get ten minutes subspace comm. a day, and I know you don't wanna waste it getting lectures about proper behaviour, do y'?"

"No, Poppa." Eyes the changeable grey-blue of a stormy sky narrowed dangerously as Charles Tucker the Fourth hurled himself against the chair's frame, sticking out his tongue at the little girl. "He''s making faces at me again!"

"Charlie, didn't we agree you're too old to be doin' things like that now you're six?" Running the Engineering section of Earth's first great starship had been a sinch next to coping with three energetic under-sevens alone. How much longer before salvation strolled through his door?

"And Lissa's too old for tellin' tales!" Identical smoky eyes flicked from parent to sibling and back. "Sorry. I won't do it again."

"Right." Jamie wriggled in his arms. Trip rolled his eyes at his firstborn, tightening his hold on the infant. "Ready to cheer?"

The monitor before them fizzed into life and three high, excited voices began to trill. "Hi, Da..."

"Jon." Trip's heart lurched horribly against his ribcage. Not that he wasn't pleased to see his old friend, but where in hell was Mal? 

The children, cut off mid-squeal, could only gape at the image of their favourite uncle in his dark blue admiral's uniform, hands loosely linked on the big desk before him and San Francisco spread out behind his panoramic window. "It's okay, Trip," Jonathan Archer promised hastily. "Malcolm's fine - and yes, that's _our_ fine, not the old Lieutenant Reed version. Don't cry, Melissa - Jamie. Your Daddy can't talk to you today because he's out of comm. range, but I promised I'd say he loves you and he promises to call just as soon as he reaches Jupiter Station, okay?"

"'kay". The little girl sniffed into her sleeve, winning a reproachful stare from an older brother too proud of his status to let anyone see how his bottom lip trembled. 

"Daddy said he'd be callin'," he muttered. Archer's sandy eyebrows climbed.

"That sounded pretty close to insubordination, Mister Tucker," he drawled, pleased to win a reluctant snigger from the blushing child. Trip stretched back to ruffle his son's unruly blond hair, silently thanking his namesake for stabbing a chubby finger right into a gaping wound. He could still remember his husband's breathy words of farewell once he'd sent the kids out to play giving them the last few minutes of comm. time in peace. 

_I'll talk to you from the Great Belt tomorrow, love. Until then... well, I'll just have to imagine you're whispering your smutty nothings in my ear, won't I?_

Damned if he hadn't had to leave the Terrible Trio on their own a whole five minutes waiting for his discomfort to subside. "What's happened, Jon? The Great Belt's in range from Echo Two..."

"Gagarin wasn't the only ship using the asteroids for target practice, Trip." Archer thrust a hand back though his hair, visibly steeling himself for the panic he was about to unleash. "They ran into a Klingon battle cruiser."

The screen blurred before him. Trip didn't even feel his eldest child's small fingers burn deep into the flesh of his wrist as Charlie whimpered.

"Unca Jon?" Melissa's sweet voice shook, the faint English undertone it always bore blossoming under the stimulus of fright. "Is Daddy all right? I want my Daddy"

"Daddy's just fine, sweetheart." At least soothing his sobbing daughter shook Trip from his panicked daze, and now Lissa was crying Jamie started to howl as well, burying his dark head against his father's chest. "C'mon, you don't think those silly Klingons could hurt him? Daddy's new weapons worked beautifully: he made the Klingons turn tail and run for their own space as fast as their engines would take them; and thanks to Poppa, that's not a whole lot faster than Gagarin herself can usually fly."

" _Usually_?" Every starship had been equipped with the Overdrive Project's supplementary dilithium injectors, giving a burst of extra speed up to Warp 6.5. Archer grimaced.

"They took some damage to the primary reactor - nothing critical, but it's gonna slow up the voyage home. Malcolm's E.M barriers held long enough for them to patch the hull breach but six of the warp coils were melted, and the transceiver array's shot to hell. They took seven casualties, none critical, and I'm told Captain Reed _really_ enjoyed having his finger on a live trigger again."

"I'll just bet he did." Yes, he could just picture the love of his life at the tactical console, that faintly manic little _shooting-back_ smile tugging his luscious lips, the old happy silver-and-blue lights flaring through his eyes as he got to shoot up the bad guys in real time. "Jon..."

"Captain Hart had to piggyback a message to the station via Colombia - Captain Reed's suggestion," Archer added mildly, his grin restored at the sight of four smug faces on his monitor. "They're headed for home, but it'll take a couple of days. Malcolm wanted me to tell you, you're not to worry. Andrew Hart asks me to say, they couldn't have knocked out the Klingons, figured how to remodulate their comm., and stabilised the defensive shielding in less than a week without him. And Admiral Kelly wants to know, will you be free on the night of the 'fleet awards, because your husband's in line for the medal of honour this time."

"Don't mention it to Mal or he'll log a priority appointment with the hairdryer." Faint hysteria edged the words, and Trip sucked in a harsh, shaky breath. _Think of the kids. They need Poppa to be strong._

"I've already advised the Admiral." The compassion in Archer's steady green gaze almost undid him. "Charlie, why don't you take your brother and sister out to play ball? I need to talk to Poppa for a minute."

"Okay." When he stuck out his bottom lip and scowled, Trip mused, the kid was the image of his Daddy. Then he looked at the smaller pair clutching Charlie's hands, and laughed out loud.

Jamie of the Tucker-blue eyes and Reed-sable hair, high cheekbones just starting to peek through the infant roundness of his golden face. Melissa, in whom the spiky little Limey's angular features were tweaked to elfin delicacy: glossy dark hair, fascinating eyes and even the enunciation of the perfect little Englishwoman. Sometimes he was grateful for Charlie's blond hair and the sloping noses of both boys. Otherwise, folks wouldn't know there was Tucker DNA in any of the Reed-Tucker offspring.

"He really is fine, Trip." Jonathan Archer waited long enough for the French windows to slip shut behind the trio before speaking, just stopping his hand from brushing the image of his friend on the screen. "Hart explained what happened pretty thoroughly. He _did_ offer to let the ranking officer in the guest quarters transmit a message too, but they couldn't be sure how long their link with Colombia would last..."

"Mal wouldn't abuse his position, Jon; and I wouldn't 'spect him to." Even if he wouldn't sleep until he saw that beloved, sharply angled face for himself and heard the cool, clipped tones he adored telling him not to be such a bloody fool, of course Malcolm was all right. "The new systems worked as good in live fire as the sims, huh?"

"You know Hart wasn't completely convinced? He is now." Archer chuckled, imagining the level of British smugness the outspoken captain of the Starship Gagarin would be enduring about now. "The upgraded phase cannons penetrated Klingon battle armour on the first shot and the new targeting algorithms have increased the accuracy at extreme range of the torpedoes by fifteen percent. As for how many people might have died when the starboard aft bulkhead blew without the E.M. barrier cutting in..."

"Mal'll still be saying they should've managed twenty percent." 

Both men laughed. "We'll debrief by commlink," Archer pledged. "Soon as he's back on the station. Knowing Malcolm, he'll have every report ready. We won't keep him away any longer than we have to."

The tight feeling in Tucker's belly dissolved, leaving him warm all the way through. "Thanks, Jon. You've got no idea how much I miss him."

Archer's eyes rolled. "Figure I may have some idea. This is the longest you've been apart since your trip to Vulcan, right?"

"Yeah." There had been days, even nights, during Enterprise's last six years of course: the Tactical Officer was usually part of any away mission, and the Chief Engineer's skills were frequently called on in demonstrations of goodwill to suspicious new species.

Even after they'd been assigned to their respective research roles back on Earth there had been conferences, seminars and, increasingly, practical demonstrations requiring one or other spouse to visit Jupiter Station, or the Lunar colony. Jamie had only been five months old when Trip had been sent up to spacedock to oversee the installation of the first Overdrive unit on the experimental vessel America.

He recalled how utterly exhausted his husband had been when he got home; _frazzled_ , to use his own colourful term. Mal had worked from home, cared for two hyperactive toddlers and a baby, and still kept the house immaculate. He'd wondered at the time how the man had done it, but now Trip knew. He was married to a miracle-worker.

"You've got the kids to think of, Trip; especially now." Archer hadn't missed the panic on two small faces: he was only thankful James Jonathan Tucker Reed, Malcolm's petted baby, was too young to comprehend the real reason for Daddy's non-appearance. "And Malcolm will expect the house to be clean and dust-free when he gets home."

"Don't I know it?" Sighing, Trip scrubbed a hand over his tense features, silently lecturing himself in what sounded suspiciously like a British accent. _Jon wouldn't lie. Malcolm's all right._ "Jeez, I miss him! It's like an emptiness in my belly, y' know? Didn't realise how much I was depending on seein' that handsome face every day."

"Soon as he reaches Jupiter Station, he'll call." It was the best he could do, and with a sinking heart Jonathan Archer realised it was not nearly enough. His oldest friend gazed at him as if he were a stranger, his mind light years away in the Great Belt with his treasured husband. "And if we hear anything more from Hart, I'll be in touch. Okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Jon." Absently, Trip tapped the comm. panel, blacking out the screen. With a shuddery sigh he heaved himself upright and headed for the large garden which surrounded the house, following the piercing shrieks of his hyperactive offspring.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip's not the only one feeling a bit lonely...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justification of the rating starts here!

It wasn't so bad when the children were about, perpetually squabbling, laughing and demanding Poppa's attention. He'd welcomed the chance to spend a few weeks working entirely from home, aware they would grow too fast and their present unthinking innocence, so vulnerable to time's passage, would not hold long. If he couldn't have the man he loved by his side, he could at least cherish the three small tearaways that love had brought to life and share their latest misadventures with him when the Englishman made his next call home. Being around the kids made him feel closer to Mal, however much space the test voyage of the Gagarin might put between them.

But now the kids were in their pyjamas, finishing off their hot milk downstairs and he had to face his worst nightmare all over again. Another night watching the news alone; fidgeting through a movie he couldn't rouse the remotest interest in. Then crawling into an empty bed. Yes, the nights were horrific, had been from the very start.

Their bed was large: a belated wedding present from Phlox, and a guard, he had announced way too loudly in front of half a dozen admirals, against the circulatory problems human males might suffer through prolonged shared occupancy of a standard starship single. Tucker snorted as he plumped up the pillows and smoothed out the thick downy duvet in its rich blue cover. Even that little bunk would seem huge now if he had to stretch out in it alone. God, he missed his husband!

Knowing Malcolm had been in a fire fight - his natural element for ten years aboard Enterprise - made the yearning even worse. Last time he'd been shooting up alien vessels, Trip had been right beside him, hovering close to his shoulder at the Tactical console, ready to thrust out a steadying hand as Enterprise bucked like an enraged bronco beneath them. Malcolm was the best in the business; he didn't need his husband peeking over his shoulder to do his job right. Yet Trip couldn't quite shake off the feeling that he ought to have been there.

He'd gotten through two days since Jonathan's call. No word had come since, so he figured Gagarin was still sputtering her way back to Jupiter Station with all hands, including an excitable weaponry expert who would be buzzing from getting the chance to play with his toys. He'd been waiting for the comm. to sound all day. "Dammit, what kind of fool's Hart got for a chief engineer?"

And now he was ranting to himself. Mal would roll his eyes and mutter something about the first sign of insanity. Well, after three weeks without his partner was it to be wondered at if a guy started going stir-crazy?

Lost in self-pity he almost didn't register the sudden outburst of excited jabber downstairs; three young voices competing to yell the loudest. "Daddy! Miss you, Daddy! Poppa, come quick, it's Daddy!"

No Surak-class Vulcan cruiser could have moved faster. Trip figured he'd hit Warp 8 at least on the stairs, reaching 8.5 on level ground. Charlie and Melissa were pressed up against the monitor, their baby brother between them, perched precariously on the desk chair with his pudgy hands wrapped around the table's edge. All three were fighting to crush their mouths to the beaming image of their handsome British parent, who swooped occasionally toward them making extravagant kissing sounds into the comm. "Hey, don't Ah git a kiss too?" Trip drawled from the lounge door, making a panicky dash forward to catch Jamie before the spinning chair could slide beneath his socked feet. 

One dark eyebrow lifted as Captain Malcolm Reed considered the request. "I suppose so, if you're going to kiss me back, Captain Tucker," he cooed, leaning toward the screen. Controlling his wince at the sight of infant slobber dribbling down the monitor, Trip air-kissed his husband's visage, smacking his lips loud enough to make the children giggle. "Everyone well?" Malcolm questioned, smoky eyes narrowed as he considered the four happy faces before him.

"We're good: isn't that right, Charlie - Lissa - Jamie?" All three cheered, winning another broad, besotted smile that subspace static could not disguise. "Charlie, why dontcha get the picture you drew to show Daddy? We should've named the boy for you, Mal. He's been drawin' torpedoes and explosions in school again."

"Instead of detailed schematics of warp engines? He's six, love. Big explosions are easier to envisage at his age." Rolling his eyes, Malcolm wiggled his buttocks deeper into the plump cushions of his burgundy armchair in the middle of Jupiter Station's guest quarters, caressing first Trip's face, then that of each child in turn. "That's brilliant, by the way, Charles. Very much how the Klingon raptor looked by the time we'd finished with it."

"Did you chase off the bad men, Daddy?" Melissa wanted to know, one chocolate-stained paw reaching for his image. Pressing his index finger to hers, Reed nodded.

"We certainly did. Good Lord, James, your head's going to come apart if that yawn gets any wider! Shouldn't those children be in their beds by now, darling?"

"Most likely." He didn't miss the gleam in the younger man's eyes, and gave him an almost imperceptible nod. "C'mon, guys. Get into bed quick, and Poppa'll have time to discuss how fast we can get Daddy home."

"Night, Daddy." Youngest first, the Reed-Tucker progeny were lifted to the screen to plant big, wet kisses on its unyielding coldness. Jamie's summer-ocean eyes were already heavy with sleep, blinking hard to stay open long enough for Trip to lower him back to the carpet and lift his sister in turn.

"Love you Daddy, come home soon." Her small fist balled against his image as if she could pull him through the channel. Malcolm leaned in to brush his lips across her tiny knuckles.

"I will, poppet. Love you too."

The little girl blushed to the peaks of her finely-cut cheekbones. "I've even cleaned my room," she announced, elbowing her big brother back to snatch an extra moment of her Daddy's time. "Poppa made Charlie do his too."

"And I hope you've _all_ made Poppa clean _his_ room, since I have to put up with his mess when I get back."

"Aw, Mal!" Laughing, Trip hefted his daughter out of the way, making space for his namesake. Tossing off his six-year-old dignity like a muddy vest, Charlie threw his arms around the screen. 

"Night, Daddy. Love ya."

"I love you too, Charles: and I'll bring you some snapshots of the raptor's nacelle exploding if you'd like."

The Tucker grin broke broadly across Charlie's round, childish face. "Thanks, Daddy! All right, I'm goin' to bed now. Come home soon!"

"I will." The soft smile on the dark-haired man's face would have amazed anyone who simply knew Captain Reed the legendary Starfleet officer. Trip shooed his brood toward the stairs with a vast, soppy grin spreading over his face. It was the greatest honour ever bestowed on him to know the real, passionate, tender man behind that intimidating facade.

"Well, Captain Tucker," that loving soul murmured a few minutes later, with the lounge door firmly shut and the bumping upstairs blocked out. "Have you missed me as much as our children have?"

"Even more, darlin', and I'm hopin' you're feeling the same." Settling himself in the chair, Trip cautiously wiped the sodden screen with his shirt sleeve. "Sheesh, Mal, it scared six kinds of shit outta me to see Jonnyboy all serious, telling me you'd been facin' off with the Klingons again!"

"I knew you'd be alarmed, love but it was better the Admiral explained why I couldn't make contact than to leave you hanging." A tender grey-blue gaze studied his tired face, noting the dark circles under the aqua eyes, the faint lines of tension even Trip's loving smile couldn't wipe away. "They been running you ragged - the Terrible Trio?"

"Least they keep my mind occupied. You're not t' go away anytime soon, Mister Reed, you got that?"

"Understood, Sir. Now if you'd be kind enough to advise my superiors I'm urgently required to prevent three under-sevens from driving the fleet's best engineer into a mental institution..."

"Jon already knows that. You debriefing by comm.?"

"First thing tomorrow. Set an extra place for dinner, will you darling?"

"Sure thing, lover."

"And do we still have half a tube of that delicious pineapple lube by the bed?"

He'd waited just long enough for his husband to swig from the glass of water beside the computer, causing the Southerner to almost fall off his chair as he spat away from the screen. "Dammit, Malcolm, you trying t' kill me or somethin'?"

"Oh, definitely _or something_ , my dear." Voice as smoky as his smouldering eyes Malcolm sprawled back in his seat, thighs falling apart as one hand drifted, seemingly aimless, toward his crotch. Letting his thick dark lashes sweep down the Englishman fingered his stirring arousal, a pleasant tingle trickling down his spine as he observed the effect of the casual gesture on his open-mouthed audience.

"Hell darlin', isn't torture illegal in Starfleet?" His accent was thickening: Tucker wasn't surprised, his throat constricting so fast it was a miracle the words got out. Chuckling throatily, Reed let a long index finger ease beneath his jumpsuit's zipper. 

"I miss torturing you - and myself." His skin was prickling deliciously. Flicking the tip of his tongue across parched lips, he let his spinning head loll back, focussed completely on Trip's long, dextrous fingers working around his groin. "Have you any idea how hard it gets me hearing your voice over subspace, even when I can't see your glorious face flushing with desire for me? Can you even guess how many times I've missed dinner with Hart in favour of _private time_ because hearing you say _I love you_ has driven me wild?"

"Love you. Want you. Need you." He chanted the words as his left hand came into play, sliding over the breadth of his chest and catching on nipples already peaking with excitement. Playing out on screen was his favourite fantasy: Malcolm Reed spread out in a chair, legs hooked over its arms while he toyed with himself, slim figure freed of his workaday jumpsuit to reveal a proudly jutting erection that made Trip's mouth water. Pushing back his chair, the blond shoved his pants clear and gripped himself hard, a low moan breaking free. "Jeez, Malcolm!"

"Yes, love, let me - oh! - see you." The catch in his husband's voice as he caught an especially sensitive spot almost undid Trip, squirming low in his seat with his shirt ripped open and his reddened, pulsing shaft starting a copious leak. His peripheral vision going hazy, Trip spread the shiny lubrication, fixated on the strong, sure movement of Malcolm's right hand, squeezing slightly as he stroked himself harder, faster, panting his husband's name. "Gorgeous Trip," he sighed, giving one pebbled nipple a sharp tweak as his fingers flexed hard one last time. His head falling back against the cushions, Malcolm let a tidal wave of bliss sweep through him, catching his undulating form and carrying it high and hard until the room around him vanished in a velvet grey haze.

"God, Mal!" The sight of his come slurping hot between his fingers; the beautiful body writhing out of control; his name slipping between lusciously parted lips... it was all too much. On a wordless shout, Trip let his hand snatch around his burning cock, feeling the liquid fire of semen rip through his balls and along its pulsing length. He glared at the screen, the image of Malcolm heaving through his release burned into his fizzing brain. The picture stayed sharp and bright even while the rest of the universe blew itself away.

For several blissful minutes the only sound was their laboured breathing. At length, Malcolm broke it with a drowsy chuckle.

"Wha'?"

"That was... intense."

"Yeah." Cracking open a sleepy eye, Trip grinned at the wanton image before him. "Fuellin' mah fantasies 'til you get home."

"Tomorrow," Reed promised, absently wiping his soaked hand against his thigh. "One more sleep."

"You sound like Charlie." The world was clicking into place around him once more. Sighing, Trip tucked himself away, regret clouding his eyes as Malcolm did the same. "Um, Mal?"

"It's all right." With a cocky grin, the Englishman wagged a glistening finger at his console. "I _do_ know how to secure a commlink, you know. _And_ wipe the evidence after."

"I wasn't thinking..." Tucker trailed off, guiltily aware he had never been able to lie to Malcolm Reed. "Okay, maybe I was, but you've got this way of distractin' me."

"Distracting myself too." One more lonely night didn't seem so hateful in the happy daze of physical release, and anyway, Reed considered, he'd just been given a satisfying reminder of what awaited him tomorrow evening. "I'd best go."

"See you tomorrow, Cap'n Reed."

"You will indeed, Captain Tucker." Cursing his own idiocy, Malcolm leaned in to brush his parted lips across the coolness of the screen, touched beyond reason when his husband returned the foolish gesture. "Love you."

"Love you too." He couldn't be sure Mal heard the pledge before their channel cut out, but Trip figured it didn't much matter. He knew it anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy's home, and nobody's happier to see him than Poppa.

He could hear their giggles floating on the sun-warmed air even before he'd turned off the street and unlocked the tall iron gates that broke a lush green screen of high hedges protecting the house from prying eyes. Malcolm had protested the place was much too big when they had first viewed it, but Trip... well, even then, within a few weeks of their wedding he had been planning for the big, boisterous, loving family he remembered from his own childhood. Pausing to savour the shriek of his daughter's laughter, Malcolm allowed himself a rueful reminiscent grin. He would never have imagined anything could be as idyllic as Trip described, but he had been wrong.

"Lissa, I c'n see ya!" Charlie's sing-song transformed her howl of mirth into a disconsolate wail. Shaking his head, Reed pushed the gates open and strode across the front lawn, following the ribbon of sound around the side of the property toward the shady patch of trees along the back garden fence. "Jamie! Come on outta the flowerbeds, it's Lissa's turn t' seek!"

"It was my turn last time! It's not fair - I'm going to find Poppa and tell him..."

Malcolm could picture his husband hiding behind the living room curtain cringing in fear. Stifling a laugh against his hand, he sauntered around the end of their rustic playhouse, calling out as if he had not heard the impending squabble.

"Charlie, Lissa, Jamie... is anybody here to give Daddy a hug?"

"Daddy!" Melissa's tears were left to dry on her cheeks as she led a wild dash across the grass. Malcolm dropped to his knees, arms extended for all three children to pile into, unmindful of dirty fingers and wet, strawberry-stained lips on his uniform and face. On a squawk of mock-panic he let himself fall backward onto the springy turf, pulling them down to sprawl over his chest. "Oh Daddy we missed you!" his daughter squealed.

"I'm very glad to hear it." Peering over their heads as a long shadow fell across them Malcolm found himself gazing deep into the drownable blue eyes of his beaming spouse. "Now are you going to let me up to say hello to Poppa?"

"Are you gonna kiss him?" Charlie demanded, screwing up his nose as they all scrambled clear and, dusting himself down, Malcolm rose. "Yuk!"

"Yes, I am." In deference to their innocent eyes he kept the lip-lock brief, conscious of Jamie's plump hands still tugging at his trouser leg and Melissa scurrying around their embrace. "Pick up my bag Charles, there's a good lad. Have I got time to change before dinner, Trip?"

"If you're quick about it." A little rumpled from hours in a cramped shuttlepod; dark marks beneath his eyes denoting too many double shifts and not enough sleep. Trip assessed the man before him with a practised eye before breaking into his trademark grin. "Damn, it's good to have you home, Cap'n Reed!"

It was, Malcolm considered later, even better to be home. Though the children had bickered over who got to sit beside him and Jamie had insisted on clambering onto his lap the instant they reached the living room (causing wails from his sister and a snort from their big brother) he could feel himself unwinding for the first time since boarding the shuttle out to Jupiter Station almost a month before. 

Trip had excelled himself with a chicken and leek risotto followed up by pineapple sorbet and an excellent Italian wine. Having stowed the dishes in the washer, they had relocated back to the living room to slump on the sofa, Melissa squeezed between them with her brothers flanking their parents. Trip's long arm lay along the couch's back, his hand curled around to idly ruffle Malcolm's hair.

He knew they were watching the news, but it wasn't sinking in. Nothing seemed to penetrate the happy haze of domestic contentment that had settled over him. At least, not until the solemn middle-aged announcer spoke the words "Klingon raptor" "Great Belt" and "Starship Gagarin" in the same long sentence. 

"That was Daddy!" Melissa shrieked, almost falling off the sofa in her excitement as archive footage of Gagarin leaving spacedock flashed across the screen. "My Daddy chased the Klingons 'way!"

"I did have help, dear." Whether his husband was wincing at the yelps of their over-excited progeny or the grandiose statement being proclaimed by some anonymous Starfleet commander leaning against his lectern on screen, Trip wasn't entirely sure. "And it was hardly an encounter worthy of reporting on the evening broadcast, for heaven's sake! A few shots exchanged and no serious casualties... not even a skirmish, really! Must be a slow news day."

"An impressive demonstration of the integrated weaponry system created by Captain Malcolm Reed, formerly Chief Armoury and Tactical Officer aboard NX-01 Enterprise, and his team," Nameless Official concluded, his dreary voice lifting a notch on the legendary vessel's designation. Trip's raucous cheer overlaid the shouts of his children.

"Damn right!" he hollered. Malcolm's lips thinned dangerously.

"Not in front of the children," he mouthed. 

"Sorry. Hey, Jamie, bedtime. You want Daddy t' tuck you in with a story tonight?"

"Daddy, want the vewy hungwy Catpilder."

"Then you shall have him." Repressing a grimace, Malcolm fixed his partner with a spiky glare. "You knew that was coming," he growled as the little boy scampered for the stairs.

"Hey, the lil' guy's missed you." Wrapping both arms around his elder children, Trip figured he was safe - for the time. Malcolm wouldn't unleash an _agricultural_ volley of complaint in the presence of small ears. 

By the time he was free of bedtime story duty Malcolm decided he was too bloody knackered to upbraid his loving spouse for underhand Caterpillar-avoidance tactics. No sooner was James settled than Melissa needed supervision over tooth-brushing, her long hair combing out and her fairytale; then there was Charles, pulling out his picture-book of Great Twenty-Second Century Battles. Rolling his stiff shoulders as he descended the stairs for the final time, the Englishman permitted himself a rueful chuckle. "Loved every second of it, you bloody fraud," he mumbled.

"I know you did, darlin'." Stepping out from the shadow cast by the kitchen door, Trip engulfed the smaller man in a tender hug, one hand lifting automatically to stroke the dark head that nestled against his shoulder. "I've had 'em to myself for a while: figured you needed a little quality time before ah git down t' the serious business of worshippin' mah wonderful husband."

"Mmmm, I like the sound of that, but do you really think the hall is the right place?" Suddenly a further clamber up the stairs - two flights this time, to their converted attic master suite - didn't seem such a miserable fag. Trip's chuckle seeped to his marrow.

"Guess not. Y' okay to walk, my tired darlin' or should I carry you?"

"I'd like to see you try! You almost put your back out carting me over the threshold when we first moved in!"

Laughter eased the simmering passion long enough to get them past the children's rooms but by the time their own door slammed both men were naked, breathless and powerfully aroused, incapable of keeping questing hands to themselves. "Missed you," Malcolm panted, the last word almost squeezed out of him as Trip rolled them across the bed. Slipping an impatient hand between their bellies, he brushed his fingertips across the bobbing head of his husband's swollen cock, deliberately fingering the slit. "Mmmm, missed this."

"'s all yours, darlin'." Hands clashing they smashed their throbbing erections together, moaning in unison at the overwhelming sensation. Style and subtlety forgotten, their bodies found their favoured fast, frantic rhythm, swiftly bringing both to an explosive and noisy release.

*

Trip never knew how long it took for the world to start solidifying around him. Malcolm's breathing had begun to lengthen, damp puffs of air tickling his husband's throat as he nuzzled, emitting the odd, contented purr. "Darlin'?"

"Hmmm?" Hair spiked in all directions, Malcolm raised a pair of sleepy silver eyes that stroked across his husband's relaxed features in a near-physical caress. One long hand, still tingling with subtle aftershocks, traced random patterns against the Southerner's sticky belly. "Bit hectic, wasn't it?"

"Yeah." The first time after even a night's separation always was, Trip thought smugly, arching into his partner's gentle petting. Moving carefully, Malcolm inched himself up until they were rubbing noses on the pillow, each man content merely to savour the sated closeness of his beloved. "Wanna clean up?"

Kiss-bruised lips quirked into a boyish grin. "Nah."

"You wanna stay all messy?"

The grin melted into a solemn look. "I've missed the smell of you on me, Mistah Tuckah. Mmm, look what you've done."

He raised an arm, letting it flop limply down across the blond's flank. "No bones left."

"Wanna call Phlox?"

"He'd only want to watch the next round."

Trip snorted, winning the lift of a sable brow. "You're good t' go _again_ , Gorgeous?" he questioned, abandoning aimless post-coital touches in favour of a more focused southerly caress. Malcolm uncurled every loosened muscle through a languid stretch. 

"Considering - oh!" Nimble fingers gave a deft stroke to tissues already beginning to stiffen in answer to the single track of his mind. "What do I want most?"

"Ah'm kinda hoping ah'm included in that," Trip drawled, giving the large vein that pulsed beneath his fingertip a deliberate flick. Malcolm flinched convulsively, another delirious mew escaping.

"Do I want- oh yes, pull me! - to be buried balls-deep in that lovely arse of yours or - will you stop _distracting_ me!"

"'m all ears." Fully aware the protest would be redoubled if he actually obeyed it Trip continued his ministrations, bringing his mouth into the action on one of his husband's ultra-sensitive nipples. His body reacted to the visceral image of his lover's powerful cock pistoning in and out of him, and the reflexive tightening of his grasp offered further stimulation to the fantasies being gasped in a less-than-usually precise English accent.

"Or you inside me, filling me - oh, yes! - 'til I'm ready to burst. Oh God Trip, I've missed you!"

"Yeah, darlin'." Either way worked for him, Tucker considered: Mal's tight heat everywhere or the lovely, dripping implement he held thrusting hard and deep, hitting all the right spots until his spine caught fire and his world blew apart. "If it helps y' decide..."

Snatching the waiting lubricant as he moved, he clambered onto his knees to straddle the younger man's muscular thighs, the faint tickle of fine dark hairs against his leg making him tremble. "Gotta have that hot dick in my ass or mouth b'fore I go crazy here, okay?"

"Decision made." The mouth would be heavenly, but Reed knew his limits, and if he was going to get everything he wanted tonight, it would have to wait. "Up a bit, you!"

With the ease of experience he soaked his fingers and began to probe the tight passage, leaving the slicking of his aching erection to Trip's tender ministrations even if the damn fool did turn preparation into a torture session. Writhing into position he butted the leaking head of his cock between the blond's cheeks, sucking in a breath against the onslaught of primitive lust that always swamped him at the moment of penetration. Trip reared above him, head back, eyes half-closed, a sweet look of utter absorption on his face, and it was more than enough to make every nerve in Malcolm's body scream for satisfaction _now_.

His fingers curling into rumpled sheets he willed himself to pause, letting Trip sink down until he was fully sheathed in the satiny, tight confines of the taller man's body. "'s good, darlin'," the honeyed voice murmured, catching on the familiar endearment at the first twitch deep inside. Long, strong arms wound around him as Trip pushed in for a tongue-filled, breath-snatching kiss, using the supple muscle to indicate exactly what he wanted of his partner elsewhere. 

Surrender without a fight had never figured in the Reed list of strategic options - except where this man was concerned. Meeting the demand with a growl, Malcolm arched up to meet his push, intercepting the hand aiming for Trip's erection. "Let me," he growled, pausing an instant to revel in the lush, silky texture of the flesh against his palm. Slack-jawed, Trip let his hand drop back to clutch his husband's leg.

Grinding his teeth Malcolm forced himself to thrust deep and slow, drawing out the sensation of strong walls flexing around him. He fixed his hooded gaze on the pleasured grimace that relaxed and tightened Trip's brow with every move, shifting a fraction to find the special spot that would send the Southerner screeching to his peak. His own pleasure, rising in ocean waves, barely mattered. He moved again, hitting the other man's prostate and being rewarded by a strangled yelp and the reflexive clench of muscle around his shaft.

"'gain darlin'. Please!" 

If he was still coherent, Malcolm considered, he wasn't doing his job right. Mirth swirled amid his passion, intensifying every small sensation as Trip's sphincter fluttered. He bucked once, twice, pulling the pulsing organ in his hand. Just as his own climax erupted, he felt the first warm spurt of semen burst over his fingers, recognised the uncontrollable threshing of the body engulfing him. He cried out his lover's name, finally giving way to the flame that overwhelmed him.

It might have been a light year later that he began to stir, roused by the numb sensation in his lower limbs. "Triip."

"Hmmm." Barely conscious his husband buried a sweaty face against his neck. With a heavy hand, Malcolm prodded his shoulder.

"Can I have my legs back, please?"

Both men whimpered, sensitised tissues protesting the small motion that brought Trip onto his side and Malcolm's softened penis flopping against his thigh. "Y' alright?" the bigger man mumbled, winding both arms around him.

"Bloody marvellous." Automatically the long form spooned around him, and Malcolm snuggled back, letting his heavy eyelids droop. There was more he wanted to do; he vaguely remembered that, but passion-dazed and sated, he couldn't bestir himself to ponder what.

Before the thought was completed, the most dangerous man in Starfleet was sliding into sleep with a contented smile on his face and one piece of certain knowledge lodged inside his head.

It was bloody magnificent to be home.


End file.
